


our story is not over

by Marvellous



Category: Black Panther - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: AU Post Infinity War, Angst, Drabble, Infinity War, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post Infinity War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvellous/pseuds/Marvellous
Summary: What if T'challa had survived Infinity War, but Bucky was subject to the same fate.





	our story is not over

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I love writing angst for some messed up reason. Sorry!  
> Another midnight drabble set in an AU post Infinity War.

T’challa felt a warmth pressed against his back and air rush from his lungs, his eyes flying open as they adjusted to the darkness which filled the outdoor space. The sky was an unusual blue and dotted with stars that outshone the sun, yet somehow managed to keep everything dim. The air held moisture as if it had just rained, making everything smell fresh and new.

Familiar arms held him close and he turned around to see the face he hoped for the most. “James,” he breathed, allowing his heart to return to it’s steady reassuring beat, pressing a palm to the other man’s cheek.

A desolate smile graced Bucky’s lips, “Hey there.”

T’challa pressed closer, but Bucky felt distant, and though he was warm, it didn’t spread through his body the way he needed. His lover was here, as an image to be sure, but his soul, his spirit, was further than it had ever been. 

“I miss you,” Bucky managed, his eyes closed as he let his forehead rest on T’challa’s shoulder. The pressure was light and anything but reassuring.

The king shook his head as he let his hands wander over the other comfortingly, able to keep himself composed. Barely. Fingers skirting over familiar territory, he rested one hand over the left side of Bucky’s chest. He wasn't able to find the reassuring pulse of his heart beneath and even as he pressed harder, it was simply gone.

Bucky held his right hand over T’challa’s and leaned their foreheads against one another, “I love you.”

“Come back to me,” T’challa whispered, bordering on desperatation as he could feel the other fading from his mind.

“You know I would if I could,” Bucky breathed, his voice hopeless and aching with exhaustion.

Just like that, the light started disappearing from the corner’s of T’challa’s vision, Bucky in the centre, but the image of the soldier was fading away as well. Just like he had on that terrible day.

“No. Wait,” he said, holding on tighter to nothing as Bucky completely vanished, any warmth he thought had been there once more belonging to the air in this strange place.

Only darkness followed. Until he blinked and awoke in his bed, the same bed he woke in every day. The same bed that was too empty with the man he had lost. 

T’challa sat up and buried his face in his hands, allowing himself a moment to feel week, like he didn’t have a whole country to look after in this time of crisis. He allowed himself a moment to mourn who he had loved, and that which he lost, but he did not cry, for he could not let go. He knew this wasn’t, or couldn't be, the end of their story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos always greatly appreciated.


End file.
